A Farm Weekend

We got back to the farm from Auckland Friday afternoon. The first thing that greeted us was the very dead carcass of a possum.  Dan had forgotten to spring the trap so the dearly departed had departed sometime between Mon. and Friday. I say 'dearly' because at least some of our homegrown possums had gathered around for a possum wake. A possum wake is fairly easy to recognize; there are half-eaten pieces of fruit scattered around the yard, around the corpse, and on it. Yes, folks, there were several hollowed oranges decorating the remains.

I left Dan to deal with the remains of the feast and the possum and went to check the lambs. All was fine but they were obviously not pleased to see me. They didn't exactly run away but they didn't linger in my vicinity either. Smartly stepping out, they followed the leader and swung left and down the hill to the center of the paddock. So what I report now is what I could see looking down and about a half a block away. I use this as a measurement because not all my loyal fans are adherents of the feet/yard system and I don't understand the kilometer/meter system.

The ram, still recovering from his strained ligament, or whatever leg injury he received running from the cows last week, lay down in a hillock while his ewes scattered to forage. I wonder if they ever get tired of the same old diet? I could always see if they'd be willing to eat thistles and save me a ton of work come Spring. Anyway, here lies the ram and up come the two  lambs. Snowball is in the lead; the ever easily distractable Starlight is here, and there, and then here again but follows meekly as Snowball nudges the ram. And nudges again. My guess is that there wasn't much milk there because fairly soon both lambs began eating grass in a semicircle around the ram's belly. I have now solved the puzzle of the lambs' lineage. Thank goodness I don't have to try to wade through Mendel's theory of genetics again. I didn't understand it when I was in college so there is no chance I'd get it now. The ram is the father of both lambs. You heard it first here. Only a father would put up with the indignity of being mistaken for a mother's teat. I rest my case!